Lapse
by HurricaneGinger
Summary: To follow their instincts was all they knew until that night the Hero of Ferelden gave the newest warden a choice: die for his country, or live to redeem himself. His first choice was a bit more selfish than he implied.


**Author's Note: Okay, here is my Loghain/Cousland fic. I've had this in my files for...a while. It's still not exactly as I would like it, and maybe I'll come back to edit it when I am less tired. I stayed up all night finishing this...I hope you're happy, because I am in physical pain due to my lack of Dragon Age 2. I listened to Blue October's _What If We Could_ from their album "Foiled" as I wrote this story. And sorry to disappoint you, but there is no real sex in here - it is just implied. I know why y'all come here...pervs. XD  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from the Dragon Age universe. I just grab and run...then return things a little worse for wear. XD**

* * *

><p>She took everything away from him. From his country, to his belief that he was doing the right thing for it – by the Void, she even turned his own flesh and blood against him! This "pup" as the Warden's father had so fondly called her was now a crafty wolf. Nothing stood in her way after a few firm words or the vicious bite of her sword. She was a force of justice: hard and inevitable. She took <em>everything<em> away from him and yet provided what the former general believed he was never privileged to act on: choice.

Their time traveling together had been an awkward one littered with arguments revolving around choice, conscience and honor. Each fight had left them with busted lips, teary eyes (on the Warden's part), and wounded pride. She wretchedly tore up his tactical plans concerning Orlais' non-existent threat while he barked at her naivety. Several times the pair had to be separated, and their blades hidden away. Somehow though, they would apologize the same night and admit to the other's opinions. But they still fought, and still hurt each other when it came to whoever gave the most for their threatened country. When Ferelden's famous general stepped forward for the inevitable however, the Warden did not order him to shut up – she begged him to reconsider.

"Please," she had said. "You can't!"

"I must," he replied. "I am an old dog, warden. You are…the only one who can bring Ferelden back on her feet."

"Not without you!"

"So stubborn," he said.

She kissed him.

The kiss had left the former teyrn in shock. It had been a long time since a woman's lips had touched his; there was such ferocity, passion and tenderness in that one act, his mind still reeled long after the young warrior retreated into her rooms. He could not comprehend why she would do such a thing after all the arguments, which were kind compared to what he did to her and his country that year. She should not want anything to do with him, let alone snog the living daylights out of the man.

The woman surprised him even more when she returned naught but an hour later to convince him to partake in the swamp witch's ritual. Her resolve had returned, her blue eyes hard once again and her mouth drawn in a firm line. The man had braced himself for the demand, the _order_ to be hissed from her soft lips after she explained circumstances. He would have fought her if the unimaginable had not occurred. She _asked_ him.

"You do realize you could order me to do this?"

"Yes."

"And yet you do not…"

"No." She said it so simply.

So he did it.

When the pair walked out of Fort Drakon a little worse for wear, he looked down at her bleeding lips and bruised shoulders, and commented on her injured state. She had smiled and said something cheeky, which would have annoyed him at any other time. Instead, he wanted to crush her to his chest and breathe his life into her as she had done to him so many nights ago. But the old mage was there…she would have killed him if he laid a hand on the young warden.

After the brief celebration, the general and the commander went their separate ways to attend to matters of the Grey Wardens. The former traveled to Weisshaupt to answer for the commander's meddling in multiple political affairs; the latter attended to Amaranthine to rebuild the order. Three months later he arrived on her doorstep telling her he was being sent to Orlais so he would not "meddle" in Ferelden affairs. The arlessa invited him to dine with her one last time; despite their infamous Warden appetite, very little eating was done.

No words were said as they took their love-making to the bath. It were as though everything the lovers wished to say was displayed with the arch of their spine, the twitch of a muscle, or a traitorous tear lulled by forgiving lips. Apart from the quiet gasps of the love made with their bodies, the only sound was the splash of hot water so treasured by a warrior's aching body.

Once removed from the stone tub, the two lovers dressed each other – one in the finest armor, the other in a blue silk dress. Fingers traced skin they loved so openly for the short time allowed; the scars, the ropes of muscle, and that cute birthmark would never again be seen by the other. They took their time with her stockings which he patiently put on her as he tenderly kissed up her long legs. If anyone had told him yesterday what would transpire between the commander and he, the warrior would have called them mad. Now, as he was pulled up by her gentle hands and kissed deeply with a soft sigh, the man realized this was the reason why he traveled so far to see her: to quietly declare his confusing, deep love to the woman he yielded to.

She held him for as long as she could, daring not to breathe lest her lover sigh as well and part. Even when all of Ferelden turned against him, she could not put aside her respect for him. The armor she strained to keep in her embrace matched its owner: shining, weathered and hard. He never gave in, even when they fought before the nobles and in camp. Swords had sparked, and shields which bore opposing heraldry clashed. Regretful words were screamed, and feelings were hurt. They were like rams batting heads – proud, territorial and fearless. To follow their instincts was all they knew until that night the Hero of Ferelden gave the new warden a choice: die for his country, or live to redeem himself. His first choice was a bit more selfish than he implied.

_Now to wish him well and see him leave,_ the arlessa thought, the impending farewell pricking her already sore heart. Her hurt must have shown, because her lover warmly stroked her cheek with his knuckles. He told her to be strong like he knew she could be and all she could do was nod, fearing if she spoke the tears would start. Instead, she strapped the gauntlet on his hand, careful with the buckles and worn leather.

She would never admit it, but the arlessa missed being selfish. Back when her only responsibility was being the youngest Cousland, she would shamelessly flirt with knights and shirk her lessons purely for the fun of it. Her parents shielded her from the consequences her actions would incur, except for the usual light lecture. Yes, she was spoiled rotten, but being spoiled was for children. The Hero of Ferelden was an adult now, so she accepted it with as much grace as she could; which meant no tears when seeing the man she loved depart.

Silently, the pair walked out of the keep. Rain had fallen during the night. The clouds still lingered above the keep, dark and threatening with more rainfall. The familiar sight comforted the warriors somewhat – life in Ferelden still went on even when its protectors took a moment for themselves. It was when they reached outside the gates they finally faced each other. The old warrior allowed one last smile for her, one she returned, if sadly.

"Now I must go. Meet the Orlesian Wardens…daggers and all," he smirked.

"Don't do anything stupid," the Warden scolded lightly.

"As my commander commands."

He took her hand and kissed her sword-worn palm. Then, with one last look of tenderness no one else will ever see, he made his way down the road. Amaranthine's arlessa watched her lover's shrinking figure, her heart running after without a backward glance.

A small cry from the bushes drew her attention. She knelt down, drawing the bare branches back to find a tabby kitten huddled between the roots. His fur was soaked with rain and mud, and if the warden's heart had not melted enough already, the kitten looked at her with big green eyes that seemed to plea: "Help me."

"Come here little guy…" she cooed. "Do you need a home?"

As if in response, the kitten mewed and hesitantly approached her waiting hand. She picked him up, wrapping him in the extra folds of her dress so his shivering would cease.

"There we go. That's a little better, hm?"

The keep was slowly coming to life as she made her way back. Wade was early with his complaints, but the patrolling soldiers ignored him as they did during the day. The arlessa dried the kitten off with her dress, knowing her seamstress would throw a fit over the mud stains. But the kitten started purring, and she could not help but smile.

"You know, I know a lonely mage who would love to have a cat."

_~Fin~_

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, the mage Cousland mentions is Anders. I had to sneak Anders-baby in here <em>somehow.<em>**


End file.
